


above these indifferent stars

by pearl_o



Series: let it out (you're doing all right) [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Birthday, Bruises, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Reading, Smoking, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various scenes from the same universe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/258457">wasn't just the same sad song</a> (so ... still-powered teenagers in love, basically). Almost all of this has already appeared in my journal as commentfic; I've gathered it to have it all together neatly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	above these indifferent stars

**Author's Note:**

> Still dedicated to mumblemutter.

On Fridays, Erik's history class doesn't let out until the evening. Sometimes after Charles has finished his own school and chores, he will head down to Erik's place in the afternoon, perhaps picking up a loaf of bread on the way. He has the key to Erik's apartment and lets himself in. (Erik didn't need keys himself, he had explained, it was easier to just use his powers to lock and unlock.)

There's not room for a lot of furniture; besides the bed, there's a very full bookcase, a chest of drawers, and a desk that's perpetually covered in textbooks and papers and, once in a while, half-written letters in German that Charles can't read.

In the far corner there's a kitchenette - a small fridge, a sink, and a range without an oven. Charles puts on the kettle to boil some water for tea, opens a can of soup into a saucepan to heat, and waits for Erik to return.

* * *

Charles turns seventeen in the early spring. He and Raven have set birthday rituals, just the two of them every year since he got old enough to take her out by himself. So they go to a matinee, Charles's choice of movie and Raven doesn't even complain, and then out to dinner, hamburgers and french fries and milkshakes and other things their mother thinks are tacky. Raven gives him his present, a beautiful new watch, as they walk in the park.

He leaves Raven at the subway station with a kiss on the cheek and a hug. She sighs. "When am I going to get to meet him, anyway?" she says, a jokey complaint, and Charles promises soon. "You've been saying that for months," Raven grumbles, but she goes off to catch the train and promises she'll cover for him tonight if anyone notices he's gone.

Charles can feel that Erik is home already as soon as he enters the building. He knocks on the door instead of letting himself in.

Erik opens the door, and there's smudges of dirt all over his face and arms, his sweat sticking his white undershirt close to his body. "Hullo, Charles," he says, and Charles pushes past him into the apartment so he can close the door and kiss Erik thoroughly.

Erik pushes him away after only a few moments, with a laugh. "I just finished with Mrs. Liebowitz, I haven't had time to shower yet." Erik has been earning extra money helping out old ladies with errands and chores, moving furniture and other things like that. It started with the ladies in his building, but now they've begin to refer him to their friends. They all like having such a nice, polite young Jewish boy in their homes, and Charles appreciates the way so many of them won't let him leave without sending a box of cookies or cake along with him.

"I don't mind," Charles says. He places his hand on Erik's hip, where his undershirt had ridden up a little, showing his bare skin. Erik just shakes his head, still smiling, and moves away. "I'll just be a minute," he promises.

Charles sits on the bed. There's a package on the desk, wrapped in newspaper, with his name written on it in Erik's messy elaborate cursive. He listens to the water of the shower and fiddles with the new watch on his wrist (new metal, he thinks; Erik will like that when he notices) and waits.

(He opens the package later in the evening. It's a copy of the Iliad. They've discussed Homer before; Charles had explained that he enjoyed the Odyssey, but couldn't really appreciate the Iliad, which Erik had found unacceptable. It was because the translation he'd read was too Victorian and bloodless, Erik says, the poetry dulling the action instead of making it real and vivid - and so now, for his birthday, he's gotten Charles a proper version instead.

He reads to Charles in bed, sitting up against the headboard while Charles rests his head against his chest. Charles keeps his eyes closed and just listens to Erik's voice, deep and precise and soothing, each word of Hektor and Achilles and the gods rolling around carefully in his mouth.)

* * *

"My mother would like a picture of you," Erik says one day, when they're walking down the street after class. Charles responds by very nearly tripping over his own feet, which earns him dirty looks from the pedestrians passing them on the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

"You told her about me?" Charles says, when he's regained his footing.

"Yes, of course," Erik says, almost dismissive. Erik has a photograph of his mother pinned to the wall above his desk; it's the only decoration to be found in his entire place. He writes her every two weeks without fail, and he always seems happiest on the days her letters arrive from Germany, reading the tissue-thin pages of spidery handwriting like he's gulping them down in hunger.

"What- what did you tell her about me?" Charles says, still feeling a little confused. Charles has never mentioned Erik to his mother, never had him over to the house to meet her or anything like that. Something tells him his mother wouldn't want to know, anyway.

Erik shrugs. "That you were brilliant. And special."

Erik isn't looking at him, just straight ahead as they walk, and Charles is rather glad of it. His face feels warm all over.

"I don't have a camera," Erik says. "Do you have one? Can you bring it the next time you come over?"

"Absolutely." Charles hesitates and says, "Should I write her a note? For you to send with it?"

They stop at a corner to wait for the light to change, and Erik glances over at him. "She can't read English," he says.

"Oh. Right," says Charles. "Of course. I should have thought."

Erik doesn't smile, but there are soft lines around his eyes, and Charles can feel, suddenly, his desire to reach out and hold Charles's hand. Instead he contracts the metal of Charles's watch slightly, so it squeezes Charles's wrist for just a moment before slackening again.

"The walk sign is on," Charles says.

"So it is," Erik says, and they cross the street together.

* * *

One day, they're meeting for lunch, and Erik is late. When he finally shows up, he has a bruise forming on his cheekbone and a cut over one eyebrow.

Charles rises from his chair immediately. "Erik! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Erik says shortly.

"What on earth happened?" He's fussing over Erik, hands brushing over Erik's face, his mind brushing gently against Erik's. He just gets the faintest image of two other boys and Erik's overwhelming anger before Erik pushes him away, both mentally and physically, swatting at his hands.

"It's not important," Erik says.

Charles purses his lips together and then says, "Fine," and sits back down. He projects his hurt feelings at Erik quite obviously, but Erik doesn't respond.

Later, in bed together, he sees the marks on Erik's chest, too, red-purple and mottled and dramatic against his skin. Some of them look like they could have come from boots. It makes Charles feel a little sick; he has remove himself from Erik and crawl out of the bed, sit on the floor with his head against his knees for a few minutes until he feels better.

Erik doesn't get into fights _often_ , but it's more than enough to keep Charles worried.

* * *

Charles brings Raven to the park to meet Erik. Erik's sitting at a bench by the duck pond, but he stands up to wait when he sees them approaching.

Raven whispers to Charles, "Is that him? Why is he so angry?"

"He's not angry," Charles says. Erik _is_ scowling pretty hard, but that's just what his face does when he's not entirely comfortable in a situation.

Erik is wearing khaki pants and his best sweater, the brown one Charles watched him fix the buttons on last weekend. He'd made fun of Charles for not knowing how to sew, even a simple fix like that.

Charles does the introductions. "Raven, this is Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, my sister Raven."

Erik sticks out his hand, and Raven shakes it, looking a bit amused. Charles can tell she's pleased by it, though, that Erik is treating her as if she were a grown-up.

"I've heard a lot about you," she says cheerfully. Erik glances over to Charles and back to her again.

"Charles tells me you're different, too," Erik says.

"Oh!" Raven says, taken aback.

Charles rubs his temple and says, "Erik doesn't mince words, you see."

"May I see?" Erik says, as if he's asking for a closer look at a piece of jewelry or something equally innocent.

"My dear, we're in public--" Charles starts, but Raven just grins widely at Erik and blinks several times in quick succession, her eyes shifting from blue to brown to yellow, before returning to their normal state.

Erik smiles back at her. "Amazing."

Charles bites his lip and Erik gives him a look and sends an emotion out towards him. It's not quite laughing at Charles, but it's not far off. Charles is tempted to stick out his tongue at him in response; it's only Raven's presence, really, that stops him. He likes to at least pretend that he's more mature than his fourteen-year-old sister.

* * *

The fire escape is totally right outside the window by the bed in Erik's shitty apartment. After sex he crawls out and smokes, all curled up into a little ball, and Charles just sort of sprawls out, feeling all satisfied and warm and fond, and watches him.

That's the only time Erik smokes, but he carries a lighter around with him all the time. It's one of a couple different things always in his pockets, little metal items that he plays with when he's nervous or thinking about things. Sometimes Charles will watch him doing his homework, concentrating really hard, and the lighter will just be levitating in the air to his side, the flame flickering on and off.

* * *

He brings Erik home finally, months after they meet, when his mother is away for the weekend.

Charles unlocks the door and lets them both in. "This is it," he says. "This is where I live." He glances over at Erik to see his reaction. Erik is gazing around, looking at the walls, the floors, the decorations, looking a little thoughtful. The foyer is almost as big as Erik's entire apartment.

Charles turns away and hangs up his jacket in the closet, and then takes Erik's from him and puts that away as well.

He feels awkward in a way that he's used to with most people, but not with Erik. He clears his throat. "Well."

Erik looks at him. "This is where you grew up?" he says.

"Yes."

Erik nods. "Of course it is." He reaches out and takes Charles's hand. "Show me your room."

His room is probably the least ostentatious or fancy place in the entire house, but it has its own embarrassments. He keeps meaning to put the toy trains and comic books in the attic, but somehow he's never gotten around to it. The furniture, his bedding, it's all the same as it's been the last several years; a child could live in this room with very little difference.

Erik doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he doesn't care. He goes straight to the radio, standing before it and tuning for a long while before coming across something vaguely classical sounding. He leaves it on, but doesn't move from where he stands. After a minute, Charles crosses the room to stand next to him.

"I like this piece, don't you?" Erik says softly.

"Yes," Charles says, even though he has no idea what it is. He reaches up to the back of Erik's head, pulling him down into a kiss. _It's very odd, seeing you actually here_ , he sends to Erik.

 _Do you think of me when you're here?_ Erik thinks, and his hands skim down Charles's sides, stopping briefly at his waist and then his hips, before he reaches Charles's arse.

Of course, Charles thinks. Of course.

"You lay in this bed, in your childhood room," Erik says aloud, his voice gone rough and low already, "you lay right here and you think of how you wish I were here to touch you the way you need."

"Erik-" Charles says.

"Your sister isn't going to come looking for us, is she?" Erik says, with a quick glance towards the door.

"She _better_ not," Charles says, and apparently, that's good enough for Erik as well.


End file.
